


Terra Incognita

by queenofthorns



Series: Terra Incognita [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 21:38:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofthorns/pseuds/queenofthorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brienne and Jaime on another road-trip, this time with less violence and more conversation.  Set right after the events of 3.07.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terra Incognita

The blood on Brienne’s neck and arm has stiffened and she’s shivering from the cold by the time Lord Bolton’s man Steelshanks lets them halt and make camp for the night. Jaime uses the promise of Lannister gold to get her a spare cloak, and then guards her privacy, his back to her while Qyburn cleans her wounds.

“The muscles of your arm are intact, my lady,” Qyburn tells her. “The marks on your neck, though, those will leave a scar.” 

Jaime turns his head at this, and Brienne waits for the mocking words she can already hear. _You couldn’t be any uglier_ or _what difference would a scar make to you_. Instead, he only sighs and turns away.

Qyburn smears a foul-smelling paste on the slashes in her skin. “I’ve seen men torn to pieces by bears,” he says. “You were lucky.” Though his tone is level, the hint of disappointment in his voice chills her.

 _It was not luck that saved me_ , Brienne thinks. _It was Ser Jaime._

***

Brienne sleeps well, even on the hard ground, and wakes to find that Jaime has left a folded pile of clothes by her head. He’s deep in conversation with Steelshanks, so she ducks behind a cairn of rocks to change into a fat man’s shirt and a short man’s breeches. She’s sure she looks ridiculous, but anything is better than that hideous, ill-fitting gown.

She's about to throw the filthy thing into the fire when one of Bolton’s men interrupts her.

“Beggin’ your pardon, m’lady,” he asks. “But if I might have that?”

“This?” she asks him, startled. “Why? It’s torn and stained.”

“It’s good cloth, m’lady,” he says. 

“I suppose...” Brienne says doubtfully.

“I was a weaver ... before. It’s good cloth,” the man says again. “My wife’ll make something for the little ‘un. She’s never seen velvet before.”

“Of course,” Brienne says, thrusting the dress at the man. “Take it.”

“Thank you, m’lady. My little Nan’ll look like a princess.” He smiles, revealing a mouth full of broken and stained teeth. “Name’s Wren,” he says. “At your service.”

“Thank you, Wren,” Brienne says stiffly, embarrassed that her filthy rags will clothe this man’s child more richly than she’s ever imagined. Locke is a vile and evil man, but he isn’t wrong about everything.

***

The need to put distance between themselves and Harrenhal has slackened, and they ride at a slow trot today. Brienne is glad of the respite; despite Qyburn’s salves, her clawed skin burns whenever she moves quickly. Apart from Wren, who flashes her a grin whenever he catches her eye, Bolton’s men seem wary of her and disinclined to conversation. She’s glad of that too.  

Jaime, though, mingles with his escort, charming them with his easy laugh. He’s different from the grim man who faced down Locke. _He’s happy to be on his way home_ , she thinks. 

*** 

Only the jingle of the horses’ harnesses and the sound of conversations which she is not welcome to join break the silence of this interminable ride. She thinks of when she and Jaime were alone on the road; she finds herself missing the sound of his voice, even his mockery and cruel japes, his snatches of song and his childish attempts to bait her, though at the time, only his need to breathe had stopped her from stuffing a gag in his mouth. She wishes he would speak to her now, but he seems content to spend his time with their escort, far away from her. 

She catches snippets of their conversation. “You must’ve been mad, Kingslayer,” one of Bolton’s men shouts, as Brienne winces at that hated nickname. “Taking on a bear with your bare hands.” They bark with laughter at the terrible joke.

“One bare hand, and one bare stump,” Jaime replies when the laughter’s subsided, with a flash of his white teeth. How she once loathed those smiles of his, and how glad she’d be of one now. 

A soldier near her shakes his head. “Balls of steel,” he says in reluctant admiration, “that one.”

_I fought the bear too, but no one will ever think me anything more than a freak. None of these men would have cared if I died, none save Jaime._

***

Some of her scrapes and cuts have scabbed over, and their itch is like to drive her mad. She clenches her hands into fists to keep from scratching; Qyburn has warned her against disturbing the dressings. 

She sinks into a fitful sleep, marked by dark dreams, in which Jaime’s hand slips from hers and he falls back into the bear pit, his eyes never leaving hers. _Why?_ she asks him in her dream. _Why did you save me? Why didn’t you save yourself?_ But he is always silent, in her dreams.

***

Walton brings down a brace of grouse with his crossbow but there are too few birds for everyone to have a taste. Brienne resigns herself to dining on hardtack and water seasoned by the smell of the roasting fowl. She hasn’t reckoned on Jaime, who saunters over from the main fire where he’s been sitting with the men-at-arms, a plate balanced in the crook of his right arm. He bows, and pulls away the greasy napkin with a flourish, to reveal a whole bird. 

They eat in famished silence, until only the light bones are left.

“Stupid birds,” Jaime observes, licking his fingers. “But tasty.”

“Jaime...” she begins and then hesitates.

He waits, eyebrows raised.

“How ... how can you joke with them? They’re Bolton’s men.” She shudders, remembering Bolton’s cold pale eyes and sinuous voice, and the pleasure he took in cutting her down to size.

“You can’t hold a man responsible for his lord’s doings,” Jaime says. “My father’s men fear him as much as his enemies do.”

“They cut off your hand,” she tells him fiercely. “Locke ...” 

Jaime’s face hardens. “Locke ... is different,” he says. “He enjoys cruelty. These men ... they’re soldiers.” He shrugs. “They’ll go where they’re told, they’ll kill in the heat of battle, they’ll plunder and rape if their lords allow it, and then they’ll go back to their farms and looms and fishing boats and be fathers and brothers and husbands, just as they always were.”

“As though none of this ever happened,” Brienne says sadly. 

“As though none of this ever happened,” Jaime agrees. “Lions and wolves ... only the banners are different. The men are all the same.”

 _Not you_ , she thinks. _You are not the same as they are. You are not even the same as you were._

***

At last, Walton deems it safe to ride on the Kingsroad; they are far enough from the warring armies and outlaws of the Riverlands to show their white peace banner. There’s a great movement of men and horses and wains laden with food and cloth and all the trappings of a royal wedding and the inns that have survived the war are remarkably short on rooms. In fact, there is precisely one room at the Inn of the Sleeping Bear.

“He looks a friendly fellow,” Jaime says, with a laugh at the sign. This bear is slumped forward, his nose in a honeypot, garlanded in flowers by the children who frolic around him. “Unlike the last bear of our acquaintance.”

Walton and his men bed down with their horses in the stables after a short argument with the innkeep, who doesn’t want those “rough Northerners” in her common room. Jaime stands to follow them, but Brienne puts her hand on his arm. His teeth still chatter with fever, she’s noticed, and when he’s not smiling, he looks pale and worn.

“We’ll share,” she tells him. 

There’s a strange look in his eyes and he seems about to argue before he changes his mind. “Very well, my lady.”

He insists, though, that she take the narrow bed; after a year spent sleeping in the mud, the floor is more than comfortable enough for him.

She’s woken by the clank of metal and the sound of muffled curses from Jaime. “Seven hells,” he swears under his breath. She sits up, and fumbles with the candle, to find Jaime on his knees, reaching under the bed.

“What is it?” she asks. “What are you doing?”

He flushes. “The ... chamberpot...” he says. “My breeches ...”

“Oh.” Brienne rises, fishes the pot from the dark corner under the bed, and hands it to Jaime.

“Could you ...?” he says with a nod at the door.

“Yes, of course!”

He’s lying down again when she comes back in from the hallway, his eyes closed, but his body is rigid with embarrassment and he jerks away when Brienne accidentally brushes him with her foot on her way to blow out the candle.

Brienne tries to sleep, breathing in slow deliberate measures, but it’s no use. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees the bathhouse in Harrenhal, and the slide of Jaime’s breeches down his narrow hips. _Stop it_ , she tells herself. 

“Brienne?” Jaime asks softly, and it's Brienne's turn to flush, as though he can read her thoughts.

She clears her throat. “Yes?” 

“Thank you,” he says.

“For what?” she asks, but he does not answer.

The quiet settles around them until Brienne can stand it no longer. 

“Jaime,” she whispers. “Are you still awake?”

“Yes,” he says. “The floor’s not as pleasant as I'd hoped.”

Brienne’s heart is pounding and her hands are shaking. She wants him to keep talking so she can listen to his voice without speaking, and she wants him to be silent so she can finally ask what she needs to know.

She takes a deep breath. “Why?” she asks. “Why did you come back for me? You were well away.”

Jaime is silent. _Fool,_ Brienne scolds herself. _Stupid. This is not the time._

“I lost my swordhand,” he says at last, his voice rough and unsteady. “I ...”

She counts the beats of her heart in her ears, _three, seven, twelve_ , and then he speaks again. “I would not lose you as well. Who else could catch me when I fall?”

**Author's Note:**

> Book readers will notice that I stole a couple of lines from the books, but this is really based on show!canon, where I think Jaime's a little more in touch with his feelings and Brienne is a little colder and harsher.
> 
> Thanks so much to Fallingtowers for the beta!!


End file.
